Page 43 of Crashing Waves

“Matt is cool,” I said. “He can get along with everyone as long as they’re nice to him. And then Justin … Rids … he’s a big fan of Pearl Jam, Nirvana. One of those grunge guys, you know? Really laid-back and cool.”

Laura hummed a soft, thoughtful sound as we walked. “They sound nice,” she replied quietly.

“Oh, yeah, they’re all great guys,” I commented, missing them in a way that felt almost strange, like I’d known them for years. “Honestly, everyone is pretty cool. Well, except this one guy. Sid.”

“You don’t like him?”

“He’s just …” I shook my head, picturing Sid’s shit-eating grin. “He’s a dickhead. It’s like he thrives on being an asshole.”

Laura was quiet for a moment, the silence between us paving the way for the crickets, before she said, “Like your dad?”

My brow pinched, and I shook my head. “No, not like that. Sid is … I don’t know. It’s almost like … like he’s trying to be funny, but he’s just fuckingmean.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t know how else to make friends,” she suggested with a limp-shouldered shrug.

I gave that a moment of thought before continuing because why the hell would I waste more than a second on Sid Sprague?

So, I spent the remainder of our walk telling Laura about the long, grueling days of training, the shitty dinners with lively conversation and laughter, the nights of lying in bed and thinking about my sisters and how they were doing.

“What about me?” Laura asked, looking up at me as we turned onto her street.

I met her eye and smirked. “What about you?”

“Did you ever lie awake at night, thinking about me?”

“I tried not to,” I admitted slyly.

“But you did?”

“Yeah, I did,” I confessed. “A lot.”

We neared her parents’ house, and she slowed, turning to press her back against one of the white fence posts surrounding the perimeter of the front yard.

“What did you think about?”

I faced her and stuffed my hands in my pockets, trying to play it cool as my heart hammered wildly in mychest. “I thought about what you were doing. Who you were with. If you had a boyfriend.”

Her eyes softened as her throat bobbed with a swallow, and she gripped the post behind her. “One day, I will have a boyfriend.”

“I know,” I said, taking a step closer.

“I wish it were you.”

Her face was hidden from my view beneath strands of hair and shadows, but the moon’s light shone over the hint of pink blush spreading across her cheeks.

“I know,” I repeated.

She looked up and cast her gaze off to the dark world around us, illuminated only by streetlamps and moonlight, and she huffed a humorless laugh.

“I wish we could’ve had this before,” she whispered. “Nobody hanging over you, nobody threatening you … you could’ve been, like, a real kid.”

I pushed a smile, but, damn, I didn’t want to. There was nothing to smile about.

“If only,” I replied.

“Would you have been my boyfriend then?”

I shook my head slowly, releasing the breath from my lungs. “Laura, come on …”

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